


Scars On My Back

by Sandel



Category: Bad Blood - Taylor Swift (Music Video)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Ensemble Cast, F/F, Mild Sexual Content, Misses Clause Challenge, Worldbuilding, Yuletide 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5464985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandel/pseuds/Sandel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Catastrophe falls, and gets back up.</p>
  <p>or</p>
  <p>What the hell is going on in this music video: The story.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mad Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreshBrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/gifts).



>   
>   
> Banner by wildest dreams. at The Dark Arts forums.  
> \---
> 
> Hello Fresh Brains!
> 
> I had a blast writing this for you! The video is such an over the top mix of awesome and ridiculous, and it was a fun challenge to stay true to that while injecting just a bit of realism. I hope you like it!
> 
> Happy Yuletide!

You blow powder into my eyes, and I know you’re going to kill me. You rip the briefcase out of my hand, and I just stand there, paralysed. _Why are you doing this, Arsyn?_ I have no idea, and ridiculously that almost hurts more than the knowledge of my imminent death. I thought we told each other everything.

Then you push me.

I fall. Glass shatters around me, cuts through my skin in a thousand places, but I don’t feel any pain. There’s no place for pain, only an overwhelming need to  _see_ you, one last time. My fall slows into slow motion as I furiously blink the powder out of my eyes – blink, blink, blink – and there you are. Thousands of times I’ve stooped down to kiss you, but now I’m the one looking up at you.

I look into your wildfire eyes, and exult in the fact that you’re the last thing I’ll ever see.

And so, loving you, I die.


	2. Battle Wounds, Battle Scars

I wake up.

I’m not dead.

Everything is pain, and I’m not dead.

I’m _angry_.

The rage enfolds me as soon as I regain consciousness, and at first it takes me by surprise. I’m in the grip of it before I even remember why I’m angry. But then it comes back to me.

You betrayed me.

 _You_. My love. My Partner. Arsyn.

You threw me out a window and left me for dead.

When I open my eyes I find myself staring into the bright lights of a body scanner. I must be in the Infirmary. I wonder how much time has passed since I fell. Just thinking about it makes me feel like I’m falling again. I start to hyperventilate. I was so sure I was going to die. Before I can go into a full-blown panic attack the unconsciousness swallows me again.

* * *

I drift in and out of consciousness. I’m not quite aware that I’m awake again until I hear the sound of the Infirmary panels moving. I turn my head and see three identical white forms rise up through the floor. The Trinity of semi-robotic nurses is here to take care of me. I’m in good hands.

“Catastrophe? Are you awake?” they chorus.

I nod. I’m not sure if I can speak.

“You’re severely hurt,” they go on. “It would be favourable if you were asleep during the procedures we’re going to perform on you. Do you consent to being sedated?”

I nod again.

One of them press an anaesthesia mask over my mouth, and the world goes dark again.

* * *

The next time I wake up, someone too tall and dark to be part of The Trinity is standing beside the bed. When my eyes regain their focus I see that it’s Justice, one of the three Leaders of The Agency and a Mentor to us girls. She looks down on me, her brows furrowed. Her partner Luna isn’t with her, and I feel a sting of childish disappointment. Luna has always been the Mentor I’m closest too. _You_ have always been closer to Justice.

“Have you caught her?” I rasp out. My lungs feel like they’re filled with broken glass.

Justice shakes her head.

“She got away in a helicopter. We have no idea where she went.”

A helicopter? That means you planned this with an accomplice, someone with resources enough to… no. No, it can’t be.

“Does that mean… has she… was it _her_? Fiori?” I stammer out.

This time Justice just nods.

Oh _Arsyn_. Why? Even you going rogue would have been better than you defecting to Lucky Fiori.

I can’t stand to see the sorrow in Justice’s face, so I close my eyes. When I do I feel a tear run down my temple, into my hair. As I drift off into sleep again I feel a rough hand wipe away the next tear that begins to fall.

“Sleep well, Catastrophe.” Justice’s voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “You’ll need all your strength.”

* * *

I don’t know for how long I’ve been in the Infirmary now, drifting in and out of awareness. The whiteness of the room invades my dreams and I spend my sleeping time wandering through endless snowscapes, looking for you. I never find you.

One time I think I see Headmistress herself standing vigil over my bed, but I can’t be sure that I didn’t dream that up too.

And then, one day, the Trinity tells me to try to stand. My legs only wobble a little when I get up. The bed sinks back into the floor as the Trinity get into position around me. They’re holding different pieces of some sort of black garment. I recognise the material: Holding Kevlar. Armour and body brace in one.

“You’ll have to wear this for a few days,” they say. “It’ll help keep your body together. But you can start training again immediately.”

I let them dress me in it. Their touch is at the same time intimate and distanced. Under their cold hands I long for the warmth of your touch. I push the feeling away, reach for my anger instead. Hate warms my body and keeps my blood flowing, like love once did.

In either case you’re still fire through my veins.


	3. These Beats of a Dark Heart

A Recruit is waiting for me outside the Infirmary.

“Hello, Catastrophe,” she says. “I’m here to show you the way to your new room.”

My new room? Apparently I’m not expected to move back into our old flat. That’s probably for the best. But sooner or later I’ll have to go home to get my stuff.

(It’s probably a bad thing that I still think of our flat as ‘home’.)

To distract myself from thoughts of you I look the Recruit over. Ash blonde hair, roundish face, somewhat knobbly nose, good cheekbones. I don’t know her, but she looks quite familiar, so I suspect she’s been around for a while.

“Do you have a Name yet?” I ask her.

She shakes her head, and makes a gesture suggesting I follow her. As we walk through vaulted corridors of brown stone she says

“No, but that’s just because I can’t decide on one. My training’s basically over. My sister – er, my actual sister, that is… you know, biologically. Anyway, the two of us joined at the same time. And she Graduated last week. _Her_ Name’s Slay-Z, by the way.”

That Name definitely sounds familiar.

“Destructa’s new Partner?”

“Yeah. She’s ‘Destructa X’ now, by the way. To match.”

Huh. Three weeks in the Infirmary – that’s what the Trinity said, at least – and I’m already behind on Headquarters gossip. I hate feeling out of the loop. It’s such a little thing, but it still makes all my anger at you flare up in full heat. I clench my fists and take deep breaths through gritted teeth.

When I think I have decent control over my voice again I ask

“So, what kinds of Names are you thinking about?”

“I don’t know… I’m thinking something to do with swords…”

I find myself smiling widely at that. It feels strange.

“Ah, so you’re a swordswoman? Me too.”

“Yeah, I know.” She blushes. “Here’s your room, by the way.”

She tosses me a key.

I thank her and she runs off. Did I imagine that, or did she look _star struck_? It feels like just yesterday that I was a Recruit myself, but I guess the two of us earned ourselves a bit of a reputation already in our years as Operatives. (And now you’ve thrown all of that away. I still just don’t _get_ it. _Why?_ )

I force myself to think about the Recruit again. She said ‘by the way’ a bit too much, but I liked her. She might be someone to spar with… and maybe even more. She’ll need a Match once she Graduates, right? Hm, maybe I shouldn’t let my imagination run away with me too much. But it’ll be great to have someone to talk swords with.

And someone to get to know who never knew you.

* * *

The room is like any other room here at Headquarters. Not big, but not super small either. There’s a small bathroom (with my own shower!) and a kitchenette in a corner of the room. There’s a bed, an armchair, a bookshelf, a desk in front of the window. The view is towards the Thames. The bed is made, but that’s the only sign that someone’s supposed to live here. I haven’t even had a chance to bring my laptop yet.

The emptiness of the room makes me feel restless. I pace from door to window a few times, sit down on the bed, get up again. I consider making myself a cup of tea, but then I decide to seek out the Training Vaults instead. The Trinity _did_ tell me I could start training immediately, after all.

* * *

To get to the Training Vaults I have to go through the locker rooms, even though I won’t be getting out of my Holding Kevlar for some days yet. I hope that there won’t be anyone I know in there, but of course there is. I try to walk straight ahead with purpose, but it’s not long before I hear someone calling my Name.

“Catastrophe!”

I turn towards the voice. Dilemma. She’s wearing her hair natural now, and is fiddling with some sort of shotgun. (You always used to laugh at how I couldn’t tell different firearms apart even though I am a decent shot.) Dilemma and I were Recruits together, and she had the luck to Match with Domino, the star Operative that every Recruit had a crush on back then. I didn’t know she and Domino were back from their most recent Mission, but what _do_ I know nowadays?

I don’t know what to say to her.

Thankfully she speaks again before I have to come up with something.

“Is it true?” she asks. “About Arsyn and Fiori and… everything.”

I nod.

Is it shock I see in her eyes? She must have heard about it already – but maybe she couldn’t believe what’s happened until she’d heard it from _me_. Her whole body grows taut with anger, then she _punches_ the wall so hard it makes a dent.

“That _bastard_ ,” she snarls. “But don’t worry, C. We’ll get her.”

I nod again.

“We’ll get them _both_ ,” I say. My voice hardly even trembles.

* * *

People are looking at us now. They must have heard Dilemma hit the wall. I pick up the pace, looking straight ahead as I walk, and even though I see some more familiar faces no one else calls out to me.

There’s Destructa’s dog, Bullseye. I used to be annoyed when she took her dog into the locker rooms, but caring about something so minor seems laughable now. Beside Bullseye sits a newly minted Operative. Her face is a little rounder, her cheekbones less pronounced, and her nose less knobbly than the swordfighter Recruit’s, but this must still be her sister. Slay-Z, her Name was. Destructa’s new Partner. And on the other side of the pillar stands Destructa herself. Holding a bazooka, of course. She’s added a big X to its rocket. Ah yes, she’s Destructa _X_ now. We nod to each other, but I don’t stop to talk.

Just as I’m about to go out into the training area I see Knockout lurking behind a pillar. She gives me a long look, but she doesn’t say anything. I nod to her, but she doesn’t nod back. She just turns and walks into the showers.

When I get into the Training Vaults I feel like I’ve run a gauntlet. I walk aimlessly around the room, taking in grey walls and concrete pillars. Most people have left for the evening, but a few Recruits are still sparring in a corner. The only other sound is a static-y voice coming through a speaker on a black panel of bugging equipment.

“Edna tells me I’ll need a lawyer,” it rasps.

I pay it no mind.

I go a few rounds against a dummy, and find out that I’m in worse shape than I thought. Exhaustion wells over me like a tidal wave before I’ve even gotten through my third fighting form. I’ve been broken and mended, and I haven’t exercised in almost a month. Just lifting my arms for another strike is torture. And I _love_ it! I let myself disappear into the pain and exertion, and for a few blissful moments it’s just me and the dummy, all thoughts of you gone.

* * *

When I finally stumble back towards my room, I find Luna waiting for me in the corridor outside. She pulls me into a warm hug.

“Oh, _Catastrophe_ ,” she says, stroking my back.

I rest my chin against the top of her head, and we just stand like that for a long time. My tears run down into her hair, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

When we finally let go I invite her in for tea.

“Only if you let me make the tea,” she says. “You need to rest.”

In the end Luna all but tucks me into bed. I feel like a sick child being cared for by her mother. Then Luna draws the office chair up to my bedside, and as we sip our Yorkshire Gold she fills me in on what actually happened that day. When you betrayed me.

She tells me that the only reason I’m still alive is that our employer got me back to Headquarters as fast as possible.

“Maybe there are some good men, after all,” Luna says with a smile.

Our employer was a _man_!? I almost spit out my tea in shock. When I swallow it’s not just tea I force back down my throat; there are so many questions I want to ask. I don’t think The Agency has _ever_ taken on work from a man before, so what’s so special about this fellow? And why was he at the scene of the crime anyway? But it’s not my place to ask. If I need to know why we took the job I’ll be told.

“The employer, er… well, he wants to… talk to you,” Luna goes on. She sounds almost embarrassed. (I’ve never known Luna to be embarrassed in her life.) “We absolutely won’t allow it until you’re better, obviously, but Headmistress is inclined to say yes. With your permission, of course.”

“I’ll… think about it,” I say.

“Of course,” Luna says kindly. “You don’t have to decide anything now.”

We finish our tea in silence, and I lay back on the bed. I’m almost asleep when Luna finally asks the question I’ve been waiting for.

“Do you know why she did it?” She’s almost whispering.

I think about your round face and short stature, the way you cut your hair into a bob to look more fierce. I think about how you’d hardly been a Recruit for even a month when you Graduated, and how that didn’t make you feel proud, just insecure. I think of a confession whispered late at night, that you think everybody is laughing at you behind your back, and an oath sworn in your hoarse voice; ‘ _One day I’ll prove them wrong_ ’. I think of how you stood straight, refusing to avert your eyes, when you told me that you didn’t think you deserved me. You always believed in telling each other everything. Except apparently you didn’t.

“I have no idea,” I tell her. It’s almost even true.

(I promised to always keep your secrets.)

* * *

I wake up gasping from dreaming of falling. The alarm clock shows 03:27 AM.

It was always you who calmed me down after a nightmare. (Now you _are_ the nightmare.) It’s hard to fall asleep again without your heartbeat next to me, the whisper of your blood running through your veins singing me to sleep. And there’s no Trinity here to give me some sort of hypnotic drug either. So I put on my headphones and let the music pulse through my body until I pass out again.

* * *

A week passes in a haze. My days are filled with training in the Vaults, eating in the Canteen, hanging out in the resting area. My nights are filled with _you_. Night after night I dream the same dream. I look at you. You’re beautiful. And I fall.

I lie awake for hours just looking at the scar in my hand from our Blood Oath. You _swore_ on the mixing of our blood to always have my back. That’s not the kind of oath you break.

One night when I can’t sleep I get up to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I look like hell. My eyes are red from lack of sleep (and maybe some more crying, if I’m completely honest with myself), and my hair hangs limply around my face. It has reached an awkward length somewhere between a bob and shoulder length. I need to get it cut. Or maybe I’ll grow it out.

It was always you who liked it short anyway.


	4. Now It’s All Rusted

A week into my recovery the Trinity finally let me take off the Holding Kevlar. I’m not fully recovered yet, but I’m getting there. (Now I’m not _completely_ mangled every time I spar with even the freshest of Recruits.) Being out of that conspicuous armour means that I can finally go home to get some things I need without attracting too much attention.

When I put the key in the lock a scene of me putting my finger into you inexplicably flash through my memory. I shake it off, and open the door. The air inside is stuffy. Almost automatically I head to the living room to open a window. I’m met with the sight of dying houseplants. I won’t be able to take them with me. I turn back to the room, the window still unopened. I’m suddenly struck by the enormity of the task before me. How am I going to decide what to keep from this… this _life_?

Well, my duffel bag only has so much room.

* * *

In the end the only thing I take from the living room is the Damien Hirst painting we got from the employer we did the Devereux job for. It’ll give my room at Headquarters some colour. Next I go to the kitchen to take out the handgun hidden under the sink.

Then, somehow, I find myself looking into the fridge. I don’t know what made me do that – it’s not like I’ll be taking a half-empty bottle of ketchup or some expired milk with me back to Headquarters. Maybe it was just the habit of wandering over to the fridge to look for a snack. Maybe there’s no reason at all. I just open the fridge, and there it is: An open jar of peanut with a butter knife still buried in it. It might as well be buried in my heart.

That jar of peanut butter is  _you_ ; it’s you who love peanut butter, it’s you who always forget to take out the knife and put the lid back on. We’ve fought about that a thousand times. And now we never will again. I slide to the floor, hyperventilating. There no one here to see me, no reason to keep up a brave face, and I don’t have anything better to do today than crying my heart out on our old kitchen floor.

This whole last visit to our home feels a lot like a funeral anyway.

* * *

I have no idea how long I sit there crying, but at last I get up and go to the bedroom in a daze. I can’t find the burled, orange jumper that you always said smells just like me anywhere. Did you take it? The thought sends a jolt through my heart, and then I just feel numb. It’s as if my body doesn’t know how to feel about the idea that you were willing to kill me, but still kept my jumper. Or maybe I just don’t have any tears left to cry.

I pack up my laptop, some clothes, a few books, my katana… At the last moment I give in and throw the photo of us from last Halloween into the duffel bag. The one where yiu’re dressed up as Harley Quinn and I’m Poison Ivy. That should be all. As I walk back to the front door I resolutely _don’t_ look into the kitchen again.

When the door slams shut behind me I get an impulse to burn the whole place down to the ground. I force the impulse away. That’s you in my head, you in my arm itching to light a match, and I refuse you. If this place is to burn, you’ll have to light the fire yourself.

* * *

When I get back to Headquarters I take out my katana and go over to the Training Vaults. Destructa, Slay-Z and Slay-Z’s sister, the swordswoman Recruit, are exercising together at our regular spot.

I thought hanging out with Destructa would be awkward. She was always _your_ friend more than mine, and I didn’t think we’d be able to even _talk_ without your spectre hovering over us. But Destructa wouldn’t let me avoid her. One day, after Dilemma had gone off on a new Mission, I was eating alone in the Canteen. Then Destructa came over, with Slay-Z and the swordswoman Recruit in tow, and resolutely plumped down beside me. Now the four of us often train together.

The Recruit basically shivers with jealousy and awe when I show her my katana.

“You can draw it if you want,” I say.

“Really?”

“Really.”

She draws it reverently, and when she gets into position to do a training form her grin is wide and sharp enough to match the blade. I can’t help smiling too. I see a lot of myself in her; she’s focused, controlled, ambitious. When I step up behind her to correct her grip I can hear her breath quicken. She wants me. I think I could want her too.

If I ever get over you.

* * *

That night I put the photo of us on my nightstand, and now when I can’t sleep I look at that instead of my hand. The two of us stare back, smiling. Happy. Thinking about the good times is poison, and still I can’t help myself.

 _Why, Arsyn? Why did you do this to me?_ Behind Harley Quinn’s bandit mask your eyes are as unreadable as ever.

* * *

Three days later we’re called to the Auditorium to watch the swordswoman Recruit Graduate. She goes through a flawless sword form, takes down a dummy in just one hit, and answers all questions correctly. Finally she gets down on her knees at Headmistress’ feet. Headmistress kisses the top of her head.

“Rise, as an Operative,” Headmistress says. “What Name have you chosen for yourself?”

“HomeSlice.” She stands proud, looking out at the crowd. Her gaze lingers on me for just a moment longer than everybody else.

HomeSlice. It’s a good Name.

Justice and Luna come up on the podium to hand her a newly minted Operative Badge. I see Luna brush away tears. She always cries at Graduations. Justice pats her on the back. 

* * *

Slay-Z, who’s sitting beside me on the bench, looks like she’s about to burst with pride. As soon as the Ceremony is over she rushes off to congratulate her sister, but I hang back until the crowd around HomeSlice disperses. Then I go up to her and give her a quick hug.

“Congratulations,” I say. “I like your Name.”

She smiles shyly at me, but there’s no mistaking the triumph in her eyes.

“So now that you’ve Graduated, who do you think you’ll Match with?” I ask, carefully keeping my tone playful.

She looks away. I even think I can see her blush slightly.

“I dunno… I always sorta thought me and my sister would Match, you know.”

I gasp, horrified.

“No, not like _that_! Ew! A Partnership doesn’t _have_ to be about sex, you know.”

She’s right, of course. But _almost_ all Partnerships are about sex. Or, well, love.

Ours was.

* * *

To keep my mind off you I go up on the podium to help Justice and Luna clear up after the Ceremony. We work in silence for a while. Then Luna suddenly turns to me.

“You know you can change your Name if you want,” she says.

So much for not thinking about you. We chose our Names together, so they would match, and I’ve thought about changing it, of course. But no. I won’t let you take my own _Name_ from me.

“Why do you ask?” I reply jokingly. “Don’t you think ‘HomeSlice and Catastrophe’ sound good together?”

Luna and Justice both give me matching looks full of reproach.

“Don’t crow about a Match not yet made,” Justice says.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m keeping ‘Catastrophe’ no matter who I Match with, just so you know. You can’t teach an old dog a new Name.”

“Old? You?” Luna mocks. “You’re just a pup.”

Well, pup or not, I’m old enough to know it’s time for me to move on. But knowing and doing is not the same thing. Your face still comes to me at the weirdest times, and each time I feel myself falling all over again. Breathe in, breathe out. My feet are on the ground.

I have to have my own back now.


	5. Take Time and Erase You

Time passes. My hair grows longer, and I grow stronger. Sooner than I would have dared to hope, the Trinity pronounce me fully recovered. Later that same day I’m in the Training Vaults practising somersaults when the whole hall falls silent. I land, not all too gracefully, and turn to see what everybody’s looking at.

A man is walking in from the basement entrance, accompanied by Justice and Luna. It’s incredibly odd to see a man in this the holiest of sanctums, and he garners many odd looks and mumblings from Recruits and Operatives alike. Knockout looks like she can only just barely stop herself from spitting at her feet.

Apparently getting out of the Holding Kevlar means that I’m well enough to meet with the employer who wanted to see me. I agreed to let him mostly out of curiosity, and this must be him. He’s wearing a suit jacket like I had imagined he would, but with the hoodie underneath, dreads and LA snapback he doesn’t look like I thought he would at all. In my imagination he looked like the grey-suited men we stole the briefcase from that fateful day.

He, Justice and Luna come to a stop in front of the black gym mat I’ve been training on. Justice and Luna step back to give us some privacy. Not that there’s much privacy to be had with what feels like the entirety of The Agency staring at us.

“Hello, Catastrophe,” he says quietly. He has an American accent. “It’s good to see you’re doing better.”

“Thanks.” I keep my voice down too. I can practically see the ears of my fellow Sisters prickling up, trying to hear what we’re saying.

“As you were!” Justice calls out.

People reluctantly get back to what they were doing, but the noise level is still much lower than usual, and many girls still throw us furtive glances.

“So, you know my name,” I say. “What’s yours?”

“Hm. You can call me… Welvin Da Great.”

That’s obviously not his real name, but I don’t press the matter further. We at The Agency know the worth of a good code name. But there’s no way I’m gonna call him ‘Da Great’.

“So, Welvin, what is it that you want to talk to me about?”

“I, er… Actually, is there somewhere more… private we can talk?”

* * *

For a moment I consider bringing him to my room, but no. He did save my life, but he’s still a man. I want us to stay where others still can see us. So that’s how we end up having a meeting in the acrylic glass car we use to practise carjacking and in-car fighting.

Sitting next to him in the crammed space, I finally get a good look at my visitor. High eyebrows, large-ish nose, a ridiculous little beard. Kind eyes. He’s a man, and an American, and yet I find myself disposed to like him. It’s hard to dislike someone who saved one’s life, I suppose.

“ _Now_ can you tell me what you’re here for?” I ask.

“Well, what I really want to do… is to apologise,” Welvin replies, almost bashfully. “This was between me and Fiori. I’m sorry that you and your girlfriend got caught in the crossfire.”

“Partner. And what do you mean, apologize? It’s not your fault Arsyn betrayed me.”

“Well… it kind of is. This wasn’t exactly an ordinary job. Or at least I don’t think people usually hire you to steal from themselves.”

“Whatever’s in that briefcase was yours already?”

“Well, yes. I’m the head of the organisation you broke into that day. We recently… obtained… the thing in that briefcase. Shortly after Lucky Fiori asked to meet with me. I immediately realised that she was going to try and steal it. And… well, let’s just say that it was in all of our best interests that she wouldn’t get hold of it. So, I thought, what if I got someone else to steal it before she could? That way I’d make sure it stayed in my hands and get Fiori off my case in one move. But she was one step ahead of me from the start. I should have known that I couldn’t outsmart the world’s most infamous criminal mastermind.”

 _Yeah, you should_ , I think. _But you underestimated her because she’s a woman, didn’t you?_

“So what are you gonna do now?”

“Now I just want to do what I can to repair the damages from letting Fiori get her hands on the… er, thing. It will probably take her some time for Fiori to figure out how to use it, Hopefully I can help The Agency get it back in any way I can. Economically, probably.”

* * *

When Welvin leaves my head is spinning with all this new information. For a couple of days it’s all I can think about, but then something else comes up that demands my full attention: HomeSlice and I are called into the Cage together.

I knew this was coming. I even joked about it! I should be prepared for this, but it’s still a punch in the gut. How can anyone think I’ll ever Match with someone other than you? We were perfect for each other.

I’d never defy a direct order, so of course I’ll go into the Cage with HomeSlice. I mean, I even like her. She’s earnest, and sweet, and goodness knows I haven’t fucked in too long.

But she still can’t hold a candle to you.

* * *

That night I lay awake, thinking about the time you and I Matched. I’d always thought I’d Match with Knockout, but then you appeared out of nowhere and went from Recruit to Operative in something like a Month. We’d never even talked before we were called into the Cage together. When we got into position opposite each other you had to tilt your head upwards to be able to look me in the eyes.

“Everyone here’s so _tall_ ,” you quipped.

 _You_ , however, with your short stature, round face, and chin stuck out, looked so much like a sweet but stubborn child that I almost laughed. I don’t think you’d ever have forgiven me if I had. (I used to love you for that chip on your shoulder.)

Then we started fighting, and I learned not to underestimate you.

At least I’d thought I did.

* * *

I put a little extra effort into getting ready the next morning. I put my hair, in a fishtail braid, and I put on red lipstick. When I put on eyeliner, I notice that my hand is shaking. I try to laugh at the nervousness, but that doesn’t stop my stomach from feeling like lead. The only breakfast I manage to force down is a cup of tea.

When I get to the locker room Destructa is there to wish me luck. I suspect Slay-Z is doing the same for HomeSlice.

“You’ve got this,” Destructa says. “I’ve seen you two train together.”

I’m not so sure. It’s is different in the Cage. And anyway I’m still not sure whether I even _want_ me and HomeSlice to Match. But I don’t say any of this; I just give Destructa a weak smile, and we share a somewhat awkward hug. Then I go into the little side room that is designated for people going into the Cage to use.

The clothing that’s been laid out inside the room is just a neutral, black cat suit. Makes sense. Neither I nor HomeSlice really have a style going right now, so we just get standard fighting gear. If we _do_ end up Matching we’ll work out a style together, just like you and I did.

* * *

HomeSlice is already waiting for me in front of the Cage. My breath quickens when I see her. She too has clearly put some extra thought into her appearance today. (I love what she’s done with her eyeliner. I’ll have to get her to teach me that.) We smile nervously at each other. I try to think of something to say, but before I do Headmistress, Justice, and Luna step into view.

Headmistress quickly launches into the same old speech about Matching and Partnership that she gives every time two women go into the Cage. I try not to listen too closely. Lines like “There can be no bad blood between you and your Partner” are too painful to hear. I can’t afford to think about you right now.

When the speech is finished Justice and Luna come over to us, each holding a sword. As Luna hands me one, she winks at me. ‘Good luck,’ that wink seem to say. I immediately feel a lot better.

Thus armed, HomeSlice and I go into the Cage. We bow towards the Leaders on the other side of the glass, then towards each other. Here, in the Cage, my nervousness finally vanishes completely. (Just like when I was here last, with you.)

And then the fight starts.

We match each other blow for blow, but that’s not what it means to Match. Even though sparks fly when our swords meet there’s no spark between us.

This is not a fluid and intuitive dance of give and take, but more like a well rehearsed routine. I sweep in at her right and she strikes my sword aside, she attacks from above and I go down on my knees to parry. Looking up at her I can't help smiling, but it’s not the exhilarated grin of a Match in the making; it’s the awkward smile you exchange with a stranger on the street when you’re stuck waltzing back and forth on the sidewalk trying to get past each other. We are, if possible, _too_ in sync.

* * *

In the locker room afterwards HomeSlice doesn’t seem to want to meet my eyes. That won’t do. Even though Headmistress gave the verdict “No Match” we’re still Sisters, and this sort of awkwardness will make it hard for us to work together. I go up to her, put my hand on her shoulder. She stares at the floor.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t worthy of you,” she mumbles.

How _precious_. You would have laughed out loud if you’d heard it.

“That’s not how it works,” I say. “Not Matching is never _one_ person’s fault. We just weren’t meant to be. But you know what, you were _great_ in there! I mean, the way you blocked that underhand strike – amazing! And I wasn’t too shoddy either, if I get to say so myself…”

She looks up from the floor and meets my gaze. She’s blushing, but her jaw is set.

“If you want to we could still, you know, have sex…” she says.

I consider it, I really do. It’s been so long since I slept with anyone. But I suspect that the sex would be just as lacklustre as our fight in the Cage. And even though I hate myself for it I like knowing that _you_ were the last person to touch me like that. I’m not ready to give that up.

I look into HomeSlice’s brave, earnest eyes, and decide that honesty is the best policy.

“I… I don’t think I’m ready for that yet,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I understand. I mean, of course I can’t understand what you’ve been through, but it’s… it’s fine.”

I smile at her.

“Some day soon you’ll make some woman very happy, you know that? And you’ve already done us all very proud.”

I give her a kiss her on the forehead.

“Thank you,” she whispers, before she scurries off.

When I turn to leave too I see Knockout staring at me with unreadable eyes.


	6. I Don't Fear No More

HomeSlice and I do our best to not make things awkward in our little gang of four, but we don’t have much for it; Destructa and Slay-Z are sent out on a Mission soon after (leaving HomeSlice to pet sit Bullseye). After that HomeSlice tries to introduce me to her friends among the Recruits and newer Operatives, but no one seems to know how to act around me. The ghost of your treason hangs over every interaction, reducing me to ‘the girl whose Partner tried to kill her’.

Thankfully Mother Chucker and Cut-Throat return from their latest Mission around then, so I can hang out with them instead. They treat me exactly like they did before your betrayal, and I love them for it.

Chuck and Cut-Throat have always been some of my favourite people at The Agency. Our Recruit periods overlapped, and when they Matched we partied all night. I never thought I’d have a Partnership like theirs, but that was before I met _you_. In the self absorbedness of new love I thought what _we_ had was even better than their love, but… well. Clearly it wasn’t.

* * *

Training with Chuck and Cut-Throat is comfortable, easy, _fun_. One day Chuck shows me a new contraption she’s devised so she can hide her nun chucks in a handbag. Another time Cut-Throat brings a little teddy bear to the Vaults to use for knife throwing practise. She nails it to a concrete pillar on her first try.

“I gave her that,” Chuck tells me in a loud stage whisper. “I’m always giving her new teddy bears; somehow she loses or breaks them every time. Now I’ll have to get her a new one _again_.”

Cut-Throat sticks out her tongue at us.

I’m so jealous I could burst.

* * *

Mother Chucker and Cut-Throat are only the first among many Operatives to be called home to Headquarters in quick succession. The Agency is amassing its troops. Domino and Dilemma come back, then The Witch and The Warrior, Ice and Ruby, The Crimson Curse… Even _Frostbyte_ is called home from Russia. Frostbyte!She’s a _legend_. I’ve never even _seen_ her before now. She’s always off on the most Top Secret of Missions. Alone.

But if it surprises me when Frostbyte’s called home, it’s nothing to the shock I get when I’m called into the Cage with her! Me and _Frostbyte_? What are the Leaders thinking? There’s no way I’ll measure up to _her_. She’s been The Agency’s best Solo Operative for years, and I’ve always assumed that she’s just too much a one of a kind to ever find a Match. But it must get lonely, being off alone like that all the time.

Maybe I could fill a hole in her life like the one you’ve left in mine.

* * *

This time a whole group of friends are waiting for me in the locker room when I come there to change before going into the with Frostbyte. Chuck and Cut-Throat, Dilemma and Domino, even HomeSlice and Bullseye the bulldog, are there to wish me luck. I tear up a little when I see them all. _You_ may have thrown me away like a used toy, but there are still women who have my back.

This time the clothes laid out for me in the side room are all but boringly neutral. I feel a bit ridiculous as I dress in furry boots, arm wraps and a mini jumpsuit with a fur hood, all white as snow. But when I look in the mirror I look _awesome_.

With renewed confidence I go out into the Training Vaults. And stop dead when I get to the Cage. It’s _snowing_ inside it! I knew the Cage could be made to do cool things – I’ve seen two girls have an underwater fight in it once! – but snowing might be the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen it do.

When Frostbyte shows up I’m almost as awed again. She’s stunning, with plum lips and chestnut hair cascading out of her white fur hood. She looks like an ice queen too beautiful to be touched.

The ritual before the fight is much the same as always, but this time only Frostbyte is presented with a weapon. She fights with a double bladed shéng biāo, and as I have no training in chain weaponry the Leaders decided that it was unadvisable to let me wield one. Luna assures me that they’ll be able to tell whether we’re a Match anyway.

* * *

In the Cage Frostbyte keeps her eyes closed, waiting for the signal to begin. A snowflake lands on my cheek, a small spot of coldness. I take a moment to marvel at it. Then Frostbyte opens her eyes, and the fight begins.

Frostbyte has full control over that shéng biāo, and it’s a joy to see her work it. She gets _so low_! And I move with her, dodging beneath the chain as it whistles by above me. Flying through the air in a perfect somersault I feel that spark that was missing when I was here with HomeSlice. Against my better judgment I begin to hope.

When we get out of the Cage and stand panting beside each other waiting for the Leaders to deliberate I can’t help stealing a few glances at Frostbyte. She glances back, smiling. Despite her name it’s a very warm smile.

Headmistress gives the verdict ‘Inconclusive’. It’s like a punch in the gut. _Fuck_. I really wanted this. At least ‘Inconclusive’ means that I might get another shot in the Cage with Frostbyte, unless one of us Matches with someone else before that. Or is killed in the coming war.

(If I am to die, I hope it’ll be by your hand. It was so exquisite the last time.)

* * *

In the locker room Frostbyte gives me a long hug, and I practically melt into it.

“Good luck with everything, Catastrophe,” she says, with her arms still resting on my shoulders.

She’s smiling that warm smile again. Your smile wasn’t warm, it was an inferno, but maybe warm is better than burning. Maybe I could learn to love warm. I lean forward, only half consciously, and she plants a kiss on my forehead.

“’Til next time,” she says.

The next day she’s off on a new secret Mission. I hardly even know her, but I already miss her.

(But not like I miss you.)


	7. Body Bumped, Bruised

Headquarters is full of people coming and going these days, and I feel like I’m the only Operative holed up here at all times. Even HomeSlice is sent out on smaller Missions, leaving me to take care of Bullseye. (It’s surprisingly comforting to have another living being in my room with me. Maybe I should get a cat.)

I try not to think too much about _why_ I’m being held back, but Knockout’s not making it easy. With so many people at Headquarters at any given time, one would think it’d be easy for me to avoid her, but these days I run across her everywhere I go. If I didn’t know she’s as perfectly trained as everyone here I’d think she was trying to tail me clumsily. As it is, I know I only notice her because she _wants_ me to see her. She wants me to know I’m being watched.

We were rivals once. Maybe we’re still are.

Once we rose through training side by side, competing for every honour and reward, and we Graduated side by side. Almost everybody expected us to Match, back then. But I matched with you, and she… Well, none of her Matches ever stick for long. She hasn’t Matched with anyone new since she and Destructa broke up.

* * *

Then Knockout apparently decides to cut the crap. One day she comes up to me, sitting on a bench in the locker room. Her hair is still wet from the shower, and she sprinkles tiny droplets down on me. When I look up I see a Challenge in her eyes. I know what’s coming.

“Hey Pretty Girl,” she says.

Ah, that old nickname. Knockout has always been rough around the edges, her hair always in a simple ponytail. She’s always begrudged me the joy I take in looking my best. Not that she’s ugly. Far from it. Her face has a perfect bone structure, perfect eyebrows, lovely lips. Back when I thought I was destined to Match with her I used to think of those lips when I touched myself.

“Knockout,” I reply, terse but polite.

Her eyes narrow.

“You think you’ve proven that you’re back in the game? Well, we’ll be at war soon, and _I’m_ not trusting my back to someone who can get distracted by a little powder. You need to be put back in your place, and I’ll be happy to do it. Meet me in the Basement tonight.”

At least she’s not calling me a traitor to my face. I stand up, forcing her to take a step backwards. Knockout’s a little taller than me, but our eyes are level enough for me to stare her down.

“I accept.”

“Good.” She spits out the word. “So what’s it gonna be?”

In Basement fights the one Challenged gets to pick the fighting style.

“Boxing,” I say.

I wish you were here to see her face. I’ll always cherish the memory of her shocked disbelief when she realises I’m taking her on at her own game.

“Boxing it is,” she says, collecting herself.

We spit in our hands and shake on it in a poor woman’s Blood Oath. 

* * *

I get out of my bed a few minutes before midnight. Bullseye lifts her head from the floor and gives me a curious look. I tell her to stay and be quiet.

I steal out of my room and walk barefoot through empty halls. It’s odd to see Headquarters at night, dark and empty. Feeling eerie I find my way down to the Basement.

Down here some of the lights are on, but it’s still quite dark. A boxing ring has been set up, and… _wow_. It looks like half of Headquarters is here; a mix of Operatives and Recruits, greasy from working in the garages and armouries – Knockout’s crowd.

This is really stretching the credibility of the Basement Fights being secret. I mean, of course the Leaders know about them, even though they officially don’t. They know _everything_. There’s no way they wouldn’t notice girls showing up in the morning with bruises and cuts they didn’t have the evening before. They let the fights pass, a way for us Sisters to blow off steam. (Or get steamy.) But the Basement Fights still can’t be _too_ obvious, or the Leaders will _have_ to close them down.

* * *

A Basement fight can be a way to test your strength against another Sister, or a way to sort out genuine grievances. This, I sense, will be a little bit of both. I’m sure Knockout has been champing at the bit to try herself against me, since she never got the chance to go into the Cage with me. And now she has found an excuse to do it.

I get in the ring, and a Recruit hands me a pair of boxing gloves. Knockout already has hers on. She puts her guard up, and then we’re on.

Knockout gets in the first hit, after blocking my first strike. She follows it up with a kick to the face that I only block at the last second. Everywhere around us women are yelling, cheering, heckling. I pay it no mind.

I get my first hit, right on the cheek. Spit flies from Knockout’s mouth and I watch it fall as if in slow motion. Then she grabs my arm, and I get free by a hard punch to the shoulder.

I have to leave out the flourishes in the middle of fighting that always made you smile (and Knockout roll her eyes). My bare bones don’t have time to stop to reapply my lipstick. But I find that there’s a certain vanity in wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, too.

And I give back as good as I get.

I see an opening, and triumph surges through my body. I can feel that I’m going to get a perfect hit. Then Knockout’s fist shows up out of nowhere, slamming into my nose just as I hit her on the throat.

We both stumble backwards. I put my hands on my nose. It doesn’t seem to be broken. Thank goodness. Knockout is doubled over with her hand pressed to her throat. We’ll both have our bruises tomorrow.

* * *

Then Knockout straightens up and locks eyes with me. She makes to get her guard up again, but someone steps into the ring and puts her hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

Red hair shines bright in the faint light. The Crimson Curse. Where did she come from?

“You’ve both had enough,” she says. “No matter this was about” – her gaze lingers on Knockout for a second – “you have both proven yourselves worthy or whatever. The Trinity will soon have their work cut out for them in the Infirmary even without us sending our own Sisters there.”

Knockout has the decency to at least look a little abashed.

When I stumble out of the ring, Domino and Dilemma are there. They put ice on my face and make me swallow down a few Voltarol. Then they lead me back up the stairs, into the locker rooms.

“You need a shower,” Domino says.

I have the words ‘I have a shower in my room’ on my lips, but then I throw a glance into the shower and see that Knockout is there already. Something clicks in me then, and I swallow the words down, get in there with her.

* * *

Knockout locks eyes with me, and I know we’re going to fuck. Oh, I’ve needed a fuck for so long.

It’s quick, and sweaty, and rough. Knockout has none of your refinement. And yet my body comes alive under her hands in a new way, a way it never did with you. This is more urgent, more awkward. I rut against Knockout’s hand, biting at her neck. I shudder with pleasure and pent up desire.

And I give back as good as I get.

I lick the sweat from Knockout’s battered throat, and as she pushes three fingers inside me I grab her arse and push my leg between hers, up against her cunt. Now she’s the one to rut against me, all the while working her fingers inside me. Then she drags her nails down my back just as she clenches her fingers against that perfect spot, and I come, moaning and gasping.

As my orgasm shakes through me I fall down on my knees and start licking at her clit (careful too keep my still tender nose out of harm’s way). With one hand I dig my nails into her arse like she digs hers into my scalp, with the other I rub at myself furiously, in time with my licks at her clit. When she comes I let go too, and give myself over to a second orgasm.

I stand back up. Knockout is leering with those perfect lips of hers. When I kiss her I taste blood. She can probably taste herself in my mouth.

* * *

I take the next day off from training. I’m in my underused armchair, reading that book about ancient weaponry that you were always on about, when someone knocks at my door.

When I open it I’m met by the red hair and intense stare of The Crimson Curse.

“Hello, Catastrophe,” she says. “May I come in?”

“Sure.”

I offer her a seat in the armchair, but instead she jumps up on my desk and sits down on it with her legs crossed.

“How are you feeling?” she asks across the room, to where I’m making tea.

“It’s all right. My nose hurts a bit.”

She laughs, a wild, short sound.

“Yeah, I guessed,” she says.

I have a gloriously purple bruise spreading across my nose and under my eyes.

“Is that why you’re here, to ask about how my face’s holding up?”

“No. I’m here to ask if you… well, if you need to talk.”

“About Knockout?”

“No. About Arsyn.”

Oh.

I can’t think of anything to say, so I just hand her a tea cup and sink down into the armchair again.

“As I’m sure you know, my Partner was killed by Fiori’s gang a few years back,” The Crimson Curse says.

I nod. The Raven, her Name was.

“I might be the one person here who can most understand what you’re going through. And when Raven died… well, I know that the thing that helped me the most was talking to people. So I thought that might be good for you too.”

_Oh._

Well, talking might actually be a good idea. So I tell her about the peanut butter in the fridge, the photo of us dressed up for Halloween, my dreams of falling. I talk about the way you used to hold my hand when we went to sleep, the poems you wrote that only I ever got to see, how you always wanted to defend my honour. She just listens. When I’m all out of words she tells me about The Raven; how she learned to do a one handed hand stand just to prove a point against a Sister, how her kisses always tasted of chocolate and chilli.

When Crimson leaves late that evening, I realise that I’ve made a new friend.

* * *

The bruise on my nose lasts for a little more than a week, but at least Knockout is off my case now. We’re not exactly friends, but she’s not antagonising me anymore.

Otherwise there’s not much to be happy about. All these Missions are starting to pay off in intel about Fiori and her gang, and what we learn is not heartening. It looks more more and more like this will actually end in war. Women against women, battlefield London.

All Operatives except Frostbyte are back at Headquarters, and the building is constantly abuzz with frantic activity. Weapons are loaded, vehicles improved with new equipment, Matches made. HomeSlice and Knockout are called into the Cage and come out a Match. At least that puts a stop to the hurt looks I got from HomeSlice when she realised I was fucking again, but not _her_. And I’m sure they’ll be good for each other, or whatever.

* * *

Somehow in all the chaos Crimson and I find time for more ‘tea and therapy’ sessions, and soon we start training together too. On one memorable occasion, Headmistress shows up to try out a flamethrower as Crimson and I are going through an obstacle course. Crimson just vaults over the fire, laughing her head off. She’s _amazing_.

She reminds me of you a bit, actually. She has your sharp cleverness, and the same wildfire lurks beneath her skin. But she’s kinder, funnier, more open to making a fool of herself. I can’t understand how she’s gone Unmatched for so long. Perhaps she just needed time to heal before she could commit to someone after The Raven. Perhaps that someone could be me.

‘Catastrophe and The Crimson Curse’ go quite well together, doesn’t it?


	8. Brimstone, Fire

Apparently wishes do come true sometimes. I’m called into the Cage for the third time since you pushed me. Tomorrow morning we’ll learn if Crimson and I are a Match or not. With my whole heart I hope that the third time will be the charm; I’ve never wanted a Match to work out as hard as I do now. (Even with you it wasn’t until _after_ we’d already Matched that I understood what a catch you were.)

I can’t wait for tomorrow to come. I pace my room, my corridor, the locker room and the Training Vaults. I practise flips and handstands and somersaults until I’m dizzy. I go from Dilemma, to Cut-Throat, to Destructa, to Chuck, to Slay-Z, to Domino, to HomeSlice, asking them to spar with me. They humour me at first, but when I ask Domino to go a third round she says

“Okay, C, this isn’t working. Exhausting yourself today won’t help your chances of Matching tomorrow. Let’s go down to the Basement and get rid of that excess energy _my_ way.”

* * *

The Basement looks almost completely different in the daytime. Domino takes me to a pair of motorbikes. Sleek, black, and huge, they’re among the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

Domino laughs at my flabbergasted face as she throws a leather overall and a helmet at me.

“Put these on,” she says.

I’m so eager I fumble with the zippers and buckles, but I get them on at last.

“Now climb up,” Domino says.

She’s already up on the other one. She starts it up, and it lights up blue. It’s _so cool_.

When I turn my ignition key, the bike and the helmet light up another colour.

“It’s red,” I say. (And I’m not usually one for pointing out the obvious.)

“I let you get the ‘Crimson’ one,” Domino chuckles. “You know, for luck.”

* * *

Racing through the Basement with Domino really _does_ help with getting rid of my excess energy. When I get off the bike – reluctantly – I’m ready to fall asleep on the spot.

Somehow I find my way back to my room, get into bed, close my eyes, try not to think about tomorrow, and then…

“ATTENTION ALL SISTERS!”

Holy fuck! I jump out of the bed, grabbing for my sword.

“WE HAVE A TYPE 1 THREAT. COME TO THE AUDITORIUM _IMMEDIATELY_ FOR MORE INFORMATION.”

* * *

Justice and Luna are standing by the door of the Auditorium, checking every new arrival off on a list. They look grim.

Inside Headmistress is standing alone up on the podium.

“For the last weeks, our highly treasured Sister and Operative Frostbyte has infiltrated Lucky Fiori’s organisation,” she says, when everybody has arrived. “Frostbyte has given us much important information during this time, but none as important as this: In two days’ time, Fiori plans to attack our Headquarters.”

_What?_

I’m not the only Sister who’s shocked by the news. The whole Auditorium fills with gasps and loud whispers until Headmistress raises her hand, and we fall silent again.

“Fiori knows we can’t both defend this place and go after her, and she wants to stop us from interfering with her plans. But we won’t let her do that! Instead of letting her put us under siege, we’ll get out of here from under her nose. Then we’ll fight her on _our_ terms. Let’s see how ‘lucky’ she is then!”

Now the crowd roars, and I roar along with everyone else.

* * *

We spend the night getting everything we can out through a secret tunnel beneath the Headquarters. (I had no idea there was a secret tunnel beneath the Headquarters.)

As I carry a crate of ammunition through the tunnel, I suddenly find that Luna is walking in step beside me.

“Come with me,” “she say. “We have a special task for you.”

I follow her to a side room of the tunnel, where Justice, Headmistress and, for some reason, Destructa are already waiting for us.

“Ah, you’re here,” Headmistress says. “Good. So, this is the situation: There are a lot of things here at Headquarters that we don’t want Fiori to get her hands on. Records of old names, technology that only we have access to, things like that. And we don’t have time to take all of it with us.

“That’s where you come in, Destructa X. You’re the foremost explosives expert at The Agency. We need you to place out strategic bombs that will destroy what needs destroying, without alerting Fiori that something’s going on in here.”

“I can do that,” Destructa replies with a slasher smile.

“Thank you,” Headmistress says. She kisses Destructa’s forehead.

“What do you need me for?” I ask when Destructa has left to get her explosives in order.

Headmistress gives me a brilliant smile.

“Well, I was thinking that you might want to do us the honours of lighting the fuse,” she says.

“I… I’d love to,” I croak, touched to my core.

As I blink away tears Headmistress’ lips gently, gently press onto my forehead. My breath hitches in my throat. It’s one of the most erotic experiences of my entire life.

* * *

With a pair of protective goggles and a signal flare I walk alone back through the tunnel to set Headquarters ablaze. It’s the most badass thing I’ve ever done.

(You would have _loved_ it. You didn’t choose your Name for nothing.)

* * *

Just outside the tunnel The Trinity are standing together, staring out into empty space. I’ve never seen them outside the Infirmary before. Around them everybody else is trying to determine where they’ll spend the rest of the night. I go off to look for Chuck and Cut-Throat, to ask if I can crash at their place.

Before I find them, Crimson finds me.

“So…” she says, looking a lot more sheepish than I’ve ever seen her. The Cage fight that won’t be happening tomorrow hangs in the air between us. “Well, I have a flat not far from here, and I guess you need somewhere to sleep, so…”

“Oh. Yes! Yes, that’s very nice of you. Thanks.”

Goodness gracious, we sound like teenagers.

* * *

The normalcy of Crimson’s home – the name on the door says Maureen Kavanagh, she has a tabby cat named Priestess, a begonia in the window needs watering – is jarring, after living at Headquarters for so long. But as I step over a shirt thrown on the floor I find myself longing for our old flat, for our old life. I want to have a home like that again. Maybe this could even be it.

Crimson lets me sleep in her bed while she takes the coach. The bed is large enough to share, but I’m too tired to argue.

* * *

The next morning I find my way into the kitchen, where Crimson is eating toast and jam.

“Any news?” I ask.

She shakes her head, making her red hair dance.

“The only thing we’ve been told is that we should lay as low as absolutely possible today. I didn’t think it was worth waking you for.”

Laying low is _torture_. I itch to go out, to fight _now_. I’m _so close_ to getting to see you again. I wonder if you still look the same. And with that thought I suddenly have a burning need to _not_ look the same.The thought of you looking at me and seeing the same Partner that you tried to kill is unbearable.

So I ask Crimson for a favour.

* * *

A little more than an hour later Crimson towels my hair dry, her hands firm but gentle. (I think I could learn to love those hands.)

Then she holds up a mirror before my face. At first Poison Ivy from that forsaken Halloween photo stares back at me. Will I ever get away from everything reminding me of you? But then I see that the woman in the mirror isn’t Poison Ivy at all. Poison Ivy was just a glossy wig, a silly disguise. This is messy, and _real_.

And it isn’t the woman you pushed out the window either. She had short, blonde wavy hair, classy, understated makeup, and wore skirts all the time. Because that was what _you_ liked. She hadn’t set fire to the Headquarters, been kissed on the forehead by Headmistress, been in the Cage with Frostbyte or in the Basement with Knockout.

And she would never have _dreamed_ about colouring her hair a deep, wild red.

* * *

“What do you think?” Crimson asks.

“It’s perfect.”

We smile at each other over the mirror.

I hold out a lock of my hair against Crimson’s. Her red is a little brighter than mine. (That’s good. I learned with HomeSlice that Partners shouldn’t be _too_ much alike.)

My eyes wander from her hair to her eyes. This close I can see that the brown has flecks of green in it.

And then, suddenly, we’re kissing.

We kiss like we have nothing else to do for the rest of the day, but might die tomorrow. We kiss like we think we can learn everything about each other through our lips. We kiss like we already know that we’ll Match, because we’ve tasted it on each other’s tongues.

Crimson kisses the scars on my back from where the glass cut me when I fell. I kiss the tattoo of a raven that she has on her wrist.

We spend the rest of the day in Crimson’s bed, _laying low_. There are worse ways to spend the day before battle.

* * *

But the day before battle must become the night before battle, and every night must turn into a new day. And today that new day is _madness_. War pulls time out of joint, and all that’s left is a mix of impressions that are impossible to make sense of:

A good morning kiss in bed with Crimson.

Putting on eyeliner as war paint, everything but understated.

Knockout throwing herself in front of a bullet meant for HomeSlice.

The Trinity saving her life, and others, in an impromptu field hospital.

Headmistress saying “I hear it’s polite to bring a lighter so you can light a lady’s cigars for her.” when asked why she’s brought her flamethrower.

Justice and Luna rallying the Recruits to take back Headquarters.

Domino and Dilemma quickly embracing after Headmistress takes over Dilemma’s bike to go after Fiori herself.

Destructa, too hurt to keep fighting, kissing her bazooka as she hands it to Slay-Z, who takes it with tears in her eyes.

Slay-Z and HomeSlice sharing a grim smile before they group to my sides, Crimson, Dilemma, Cut-Throat and Mother Chucker following close behind.


	9. Coming My Way

Then I see _you_. My blood turns to ice, and time snaps into order again.

We meet you down by the riverside, and as my Sisters and I walk towards you and your masked cronies, Destructa sets off a series of explosions behind us; a wall of fire to keep you from escaping again.

The Thames reflects the light from the explosions, fire and water delineating the battlefield. It’s beautiful. But not as beautiful as _you_. Breathing, walking, dressed in leather and latex.

Our eyes meet. You bite your lip.

(I had forgotten how much I love it when you bite your lip.)

* * *

I want to spread my arms and run to you, touch you… make sure you’re real. Everything else is unimportant. What is a day spent kissing The Crimson Curse, compared to _us_? What’s _anyone_ compared to _you_ , my Partner, my Arsyn?

But I stay in step with my Sisters, and let the fire around us feed the hatred in my heart. What’s come together in a Blood Oath can only be separated by bloodshed.

Once more we’ll be the perfect storm.

I raise my hand for attack.

(Finally I’ll have your hands on my body again.)

_Hey!_


End file.
